poetry
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Love, Sacred Love
“Thou sacred love, thou hast been persecuted from the beginning and hast been soaked in blood. Love, sacred love.” – Alexey Tolstoy, Tsar Feodor Ioannovic. I had one such dream, dear reader, that reminded me of a longing so very deep which I put to sleep, hoping it would not wake to torment me. I…
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On Secrets
In order to be authentic, one cannot be caged, nothing can be demanded of you. You can try many ways of extracting truth, thus raping the individual. I am a creature of contradictions, I cannot be trusted with a fixed state of mind, I live on planet Earth and I adapt. I so desperately wished…
alone, aloneness, belonging, courage, creative writing, death, depression, diary, emptiness, escapism, falling in love, fantasy, female diarist, heartbreak, humanity, individuality, introspection, life, love, masks, meaning, musings, mystery story, personal journal, poems, poetry, rebellion, self reflection
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1000x
The writer in love enters the world of sufism. I wage war against any and all, any and all who wish to submit me. They don’t understand the soul. They might speak of philosophy, the coward’s way. I say, walk through fire instead, I dare you to fall and stay in love. I dare you…
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I Let Love In
It wasn’t a teacup that shattered, it was the entire shelf.I saw it breaking in slow motion and I ignored it. The shards flew inwards with the speed of arrows shooting into a void. I felt them as they entered me. They were more aware of me than you. I was a ravaged animal, I…
alone, aloneness, belonging, courage, creative writing, diary, emptiness, escapism, falling in love, family, fantasy, female diarist, heartbreak, humanity, individuality, introspection, life, loneliness, love, meaning, musings, nostalgia, personal journal, poem, Poemas, Poesia, poetry, self reflection
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The Custodian
I would tell her about the octopus dream…How the creature felt like family. Was it floating in the air or was I deep in the water? Its eyes were full of intelligence, full of thoughts.It was a moment of divinity.It looked the way I would think a galactic ambassador looks like.It knows you intimately before…
alone, aloneness, Amor, belonging, chile, coffee, courage, creative writing, Depresion, diary, emptiness, escapism, Escapismo, escritores chilenos, español, falling in love, family, Fantasia, fantasy, female diarist, heartbreak, humanity, introspection, life, love, meaning, memento-mori, poetry, rebellion, short story
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Misanthrope
I now believe there are things that should remain unwritten. Not all is meant to be exposed. A protective layer, such as our skin is crucial to our sustanance. You might regret having thought about it, so don’t even think about saying it. Shush, become pensive, take two moments. Do not rush to express yourself.…
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Another Such Day
Rising, the volcano ashes, the sea levels, the fog in a dreaded morning walk. I can smell each of the season’s stereotypes. The public’s chatter in the stores, the back and forth of the clerks, the tapping of the cards in the POS.Memory is a spy dressed in black, walking a la pointe becoming undistinguishable…
alone, aloneness, belonging, courage, creative writing, death, Depresion, depression, devil, diary, emptiness, ensayos, escapism, Escapismo, español, fantasy, female diarist, heartbreak, humanity, individuality, introspection, life, loneliness, meaning, memento-mori, musings, nostalgia, personal journal, poem, poetry, self reflection
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The Week Ahead
Still, the body, stillDaylight gnawing at our lone survivorPieces abound in piles of otherworldly debris.Which is earth’s, which is unknown in source?Metallic tesoros, alive, burning the storage room We modify time gaps as we perceive anxieties. Five days now seem like a round trip to the moon. 24 hours as a black pool of dubious…
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Singularity
As I lay on my bed I realize my mind is globetrotting. A big fragment of myself has been endlessly running without stop since early childhood. It has to. No one asked her to. She feels compelled to do it. The world starts weighing on her each time she slows her pace. Resting is simply…
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HARROWING NOSTALGIA
Fatherless, motherless sons & daughtersWhere are the unknowns to love us?I am curious about their privacies. The thickness of their masks. The pace in which they walk, the tonality of their voice, who they are when no one is watching.Are they aware of the countdown? I am no angel to sound the trumpets.I come with…
LA MVNDIA 